


How Far We've Come

by EditFreak



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, End Space Dad's Suffering, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's seriously not as bad as it looks, Keith and Shiro are Siblings, Multi, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EditFreak/pseuds/EditFreak
Summary: Pidge, Lance, Keith, Shiro, and Hunk are best friends to the end. They’ve been through Matt and Samuel Holt’s sudden disappearance, Keith and Shiro’s parents’ deaths, and much more together. And they would all do it again in a heartbeat. But life is cruel, so she threw a curve ball at them.Or: Space Dad never gets a break and neither does anyone else.





	How Far We've Come

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: there is implied rape and non-con drug use in this chapter!\
> 
> The POV changes a couple times per chapter, but it shouldn’t be difficult to follow! Also, this is my second fic, so I’m sorry if this fic is bad.

Pidge chugged down her third espresso of the day, ignoring her dying, burnt tongue. People stared at her. It was of no surprise. Here she was, smelly after several days of not showering, with dark bags underneath her eyes. The cozy, over-sized shirt Pidge wore made her want to sleep right then and there at GoLion Café even though the place was packed with people who were eating lunch there.

The girl checked her watch for what felt like the fiftieth time. _12:11_ she cursed inwardly. To be honest, her buddies still had exactly four minutes and twenty-seven seconds until it was 12:15, the time they promised to meet. But to Pidge, being five minutes early was considered on time, being on time was late, and being late was _unacceptable_ in her book. Pidge’s friends always joked that she was OCD, but Pidge swore up and down she wasn’t—at least she didn’t think she was.

Pidge’s eyelids fluttered open and closed. She felt her head droop on the couch and her eyes close. _Some little sleep wouldn’t hurt._ She thought.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Large, gentle hands were on Pidge’s shoulders and softly shook her awake. Since she hated being touched by strangers, the girl quickly opened her eyes and bolted up. That proved to be an awful idea when she flinched from the sudden brightness of the lights in the café with a groan. Pidge blinked out the tiredness from her eyes and focused on the speaker.

“Oi, Shiro,” she muttered before flipping over and splaying her body over more of the couch. Pidge knew full well other people were giving her strange glances, but she couldn’t give a damn.

The handsome man with a killer Dorito-shaped body sighed. Even though Pidge’s eyes were squeezed shut, she could hear the ruffling noise as he picked up her third empty espresso cup.

“Jesus, Pidge, how many of these did you drink?” he deadpanned.

“Oh. My. Goodness. Did our perfect Christian, Dr. Shirogane Takashi, just use the Lord’s name was vain?” Pidge countered dramatically, so she didn’t have to answer that question. She was _not_ in the mood for any of Shiro’s lectures. Pidge prayed that he read the room before opening his mouth again, otherwise she was going to snap.

She dared to peek a look at her friend. Shiro definitely did not look impressed. He slapped his prosthetic right hand and his left hand together.

“Fine, fine, I’ll tell your mom about the time you-”

“Don’t you dare,” Pidge cut off with a glare towards the much bigger man. There was a silence between them. Shiro stared at Pidge, expecting an answer to his previous question, while the girl tried to avoid looking at her disappointed “father."

“That was only my second.”

“Oh please, this is obviously your third. were you pushing yourself too hard for your new project?”

How the hell was Shiro always right about things? This man had to be a psychic or maybe even a god. He was the epitome of perfection. Even the way he smelled made Pidge feel self-conscious of herself, especially since she may or may not have had forgotten to put on deodorant in the past couple of days.

Pidge started to scowl, but one look at her friend made her drop it. Shiro’s gaze met hers, filled with worry. Not only was he a childhood and a family friend, but he had valid reason to worry about her.

“I know that you want to try your hardest for this new job for your dad and brother, but isn’t this pushing it too far? I think your family would want you to be happy instead,” Shiro began, which made Pidge groan inside her head.

Here was Shiro again with one of his dad speeches. But her friend’s words had some weight to it. Pidge was completely aware she was going overboard. Both her brother and father worked— _no works_ —at Garrison’s research facility.

She refused to believe they were dead. Being missing for a year doesn’t mean they were dead, right? After all, there wasn’t any proof of their deaths. Garrison's secrecy regarding the incident piqued her interest as well. The girl could feel that they were hiding something from her.

“Shiro, you don’t understand me at all,” Pidge muttered with a grumble, her arms flailed out to emphasize her point. “This is what _I_ want to do. I. Am. Completely. Happy.”

Shiro gave her an incredulous look. He didn’t believe her, but this time, he didn’t say anything. Pidge guessed the dark bags underneath her eyes, her messy, greasy hair, and her dirty clothes spoke for themselves. But it was all worth it. Right now, Pidge was working on the best invention she had ever made. Even though the girl felt disgusting, Pidge couldn't wait to show off the fruits of her research.

Her head was up in the clouds, imagining her workshop back at home where all her tools laid. That was the place where she felt connected to her missing family. Pidge nostalgically remembered that years ago, she ran around the room, watching her father and brother work in their lab in awe. They were always covered with sweat and grime, but Pidge never minded it. She would latch herself to her father while holding her brother’s hand. Then she would run her hands over parts they were working on.

But the workshop also brought up upset feelings inside of her. When would the police find her missing family? Pidge swore they were incompetent as hell. They practically gave up on them after a month. Even Garrison, the university they worked and researched for, gave up on her missing family. But Pidge vowed to never give up on them. They were alive; they had to be.

A loud bang from the cafe door brought Pidge out of her thoughts. “Hello, ladies!” _Ah, there he is._ Everyone in the place turned to stare at the person who yelled. A lanky Cuban with a dazzling smile struts into the area, flashing girls with his smile.

Pidge cringed at one of her best friends as he bent down low to whisper something definitely perverse into a blonde girl’s ear. Whatever he said made the lady laugh with a scarlet blush. She hurriedly grabbed a napkin and scribbled something onto it. A second later, she shoved the napkin to the man and trotted out the cafe. The scrawny guy grinned from ear to ear as he approaches the couch Pidge and Shiro were sitting.

“Look what I got!” the lanky boy exclaimed as he proudly waved around the napkin he received like a flag.

“You’re being overdramatic, Lance. It’s only seven digits,” a voice grumbled as the speaker came through the door. He had a mullet—yes, a mullet like Billy Ray Cyrus—and wore a black hoodie like the emo he was.

Lance, caught off-guard, yelped, “Well, you sound jealous! Jeez, why am I even friends with you! You’re such a stuck-up emo.”

Mullet boy rolled his eyes at Lance’s petty jabs and sat on one of the arms of the couch Pidge was lying on, hands still stuck in his hoodie’s front pocket.

“You’re sticking to childish name-calling?” He scoffed. “Wow, you’re such an adult.”

“Who were you calling a child? At least I’m not an emo who listens to My Chemical Romance and Panic! At the Disco all the time!”

“Oh please, you listen to dumb and immature music.”

“No, no, no, asshole, you did _not_ just diss Beyonce!”

Pidge tuned out the annoying between her friends, Lance and Keith, and fiddled with her phone. She heard Shiro try to break up the argument, but the others were still at each other’s throats. Lance and Keith were like water and oil; their personalities simply didn’t mix. Sometimes their dynamic was hilarious, but more often than not, it got downright irritating. Usually, Hunk, another one of Pidge’s friends helped make sure they weren’t killing each other. However, he wasn’t here at the moment.

_Where’s Hun-_

The cafe door slammed open with a boom as a large, tanned man stumbled through with a too-small bookbag strewn over one shoulder, half-zipped. He cursed loudly when he dropped a heavy-looking textbook on his foot. His presence was magical. Immediately, Lance and Keith’s meaningless debate ended.

Lance flew across the cafe with a single name coming out of his lips.

“Hunkkkkk!”

Hunk was not prepared for him and got tackled. Hard. Who knew a big man like him squeal like a ten year-old girl?  How did Lance, a scrawny bag of long limbed bones, manage to take down Hunk, a literal hunk? Pidge would never know.

“Hey, guys!” the big man called cheerfully as he approached the couch a minute later. The big man dropped his bag on the floor and threw his book on the coffee table so forcefully Pidge almost thought there was an earthquake.

“Dude, you do realize that you should apply eyeshadow over your eyes, not below,” Hunk blurted as soon as he saw Pidge’s pitiful state.

“Hunk, my man, she’s obviously trying out makeup for Halloween!” Lance broke out. “We all know that Pidge would never makeup unless it’s Halloween.”

Pidge’s eye twitched, and Hunk, like Shiro, immediately caught on that she was _not_ a happy camper. Unfortunately, Lance was nowhere as bright as his best friend.

“Let me tell ya, honey. That makeup is absolutely horrendous on you,” he continued yapping.

Oh boy, Pidge’s blood was boiling. _First, Shiro. Now this._ Maybe the sugar she injected into her system went into her brain. Some even might’ve said it was “that time of the month”—which would piss any girl off more. Either way, Pidge stood up in her five foot, two inch glory against Lance who was easily a foot taller than her and jabbed a finger to his chest.

“It’s not fucking makeup!” Pidge barked.

Now, these people were her best friends, so they knew not to push Pidge too far, especially if she hadn’t slept for a while. Scratch that, anyone—even a stranger—had enough common sense not to push Katie “Pidge” Holt’s buttons.

In that very moment, Lance knew he had fucked up _badly_. His eyes were wide in anticipation. Lance had been on the receiving end of some of Pidge’s punches; he knew exactly how much they hurt.

Pidge was so tempted to throw a punch at him. She had been on edge for the past week. Ever since she started working at Garrison, Pidge had been working nonstop. She smelled like garbage since the she neglected her personal hygiene to be efficient. It didn’t make it better that her co-workers, to put it frankly and as truthful as possible, were complete assholes. In Pidge’s mind, this was completely justifiable.

But one look at Shiro’s face made her do a double take. Lance hadn’t expected her to get so pissed. Heck, even Keith and Hunk looked scared of her. In all actuality, Lance didn’t deserve getting a slap to his face.

After a long pause of tense silence, Pidge put down her hand.

“Order me an espresso,” she ordered him before flopping back down on the couch

Lance was gaping at Pidge, but he knew better than to ask her to repeat what she said, so he scurried over to the cashier to order another coffee for Pidge.

With a sigh, Pidge mumbled, “Sorry for that, guys. I’m just tired, y’know?” Honestly, she was glad she was best friends with these guys. Though their personalities and interests differed, they stuck together and were best buds.

Pidge and Hunk joked about making a device that could see someone’s innermost thoughts. Pidge promised her friends she would allow them to look into her headhole anytime. As a group, they made so many ridiculous plans for the device. They even added a feature that could morph their thoughts to form a giant mecha robot. That was what happened when they watched too much Transformers together.

That was how close the five of them were.

They supported Pidge so much. Shiro helped her find a job at the Garrison after she graduated from college early. Without Hunk and Keith, Pidge wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to make a top-tier device to present at her interview. Shiro saved her butt five times over by giving her speech tips and encouraging her. And Lance, well, he ditched a couple of dance classes he taught to give her “emotional support.” His boss ended up almost firing him. Pidge could never thank them enough for the help they gave her, especially after her brother and father’s disappearance.

Lance walked back to the couch while he stuffed change into his pockets.

“Yo, there’s a hot new waitress!” Lance called with a loud cat call as he plopped onto the couch besides Pidge.

Since Lance was talking, Keith had to too.

“You’ve already terrorized enough women today,” Keith pointed out.

Pidge muttered underneath her breath, “Thank you, Keith.”

“How am I terrorizing them if they keep coming to me? Obviously, they can’t get enough of Sir Lance-A-Lot!” Lance piped. “It’s not my problem you’re gay.”

“I’m sure women find you _very_ mature, especially after they find out you still live in your mother’s basement.”

Pidge wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating, but she saw Lance look wounded at Keith’s last statement. What Keith said was true, but Pidge guessed moving out had always been a sore spot for Lance. Whenever one of them mentioned it, Lance would change the topic. By now, all of them knew not to bring up that issue. _Keith, you might be an inconsiderate asshole, but that was a low blow._ Pidge thought.

She checked Lance’s face again. The expression of hurt was already long gone, and his face had twisted to look vaguely constipated.

A couple of minutes later, a commanding feminine voice with a British accent broke the banter.

“An espresso for Miss Pidgeon?” The waitress asked, bewildered.

Pidge made a scowl at her Cuban friend. _Thanks a lot, Lance._

She stood up to receive her espresso from the tall waitress. Lance wasn’t wrong; the waitress was not only exotically beautiful, but also British because British accents are always a turn on. Her skin was a beautiful dark brown, her hair was a cloud of white, and her eyes were a clear blue.

The lady cleared her voice awkwardly. “Uh, do you need anything?” She asked, her smooth accent flowed. Her eyebrows scrunched in a confused yet elegant frown. Pidge knew without a doubt that Queen Elizabeth would be jealous of this girl’s grace.

Pidge grabbed the cup of hot espresso before Lance could try any of his cringey pick up lines on her. “No,” she uttered quickly. Pidge squinted her eyes to read the waitress’s name tag. “Thank you, Allura.”

Unfortunately, she had not been fast enough. Why did Pidge even try? Lance’s flirting skills were faster than light and as cringey as the Emoji Movie. Lance’s relationships in general ending up being a worse love story than Twilight—if that was even possible.

“Feel my shirt. It’s boyfriend material,” he said flirtatiously while stroking his shirt, exposing a patch of his midriff. The sight was stupid that Pidge had to pinch herself to not burst out laughing. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Hunk was on the same page as her.

_Dear lord, the success rate of that pick up line is as low as the amount times Lance has actually been laid: zero._

Thank the lord the waitress had some sense. She frowned at the line and replied, “Sorry, it looks clingy and too hard to maintain.”

Allura strutted away confidently. She was less than three meters away before Hunk, Pidge, and Keith started laughing hysterically. For some reason, Shiro wasn’t laughing. That was odd. Instead, he was staring at Allura’s back with wide eyes, lit up with shock and something Pidge couldn’t put her finger on. Fear?

“Dude, she got you good!” Hunk laughed

“She’s just playing hard to get, Hunk!”

* * *

Everyone in Pidge’s group was eyeing the slip of paper in Lance’s hand while his other hand was typing in the number he got from a blonde girl earlier.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna do it, Lance,” Hunk beamed excitedly. The large man was jumping up and down on comfy chair. Pidge pitied the chair as the wooden legs screamed in pain every time Hunk landed on it.

“There’s no way in hell she actually gave him her number,” Keith mumbled incredulously.

Pidge waited for Lance’s inevitable “You’re jealous” statement.

“Jealousy is a sin, Keith. Learn from your good Christian brother, Shiro,” Lance retorted while blowing a raspberry at Keith.

_Ah, there it is._

“Oh, I’m going to call her right now!”

“What is this? The 90’s? Who calls nowadays?”

“Excuse you, but women love men who call! It shows off my maturity!”

“Lying is a sin, Lance. Learn from your good Christian friend, Shiro.”

“Shut up! I’m calling her!”

Lance pressed the speaker button on his phone. Pidge and her friends leaned in to listen to the call. After several rings, a woman picked up on the other end. Lance excitedly mouthed, “It’s really her!” while Keith rolled his eyes.

“Hello, this is Galran and Gayran Brothel Planet! We provide the best services for both men and women! Regardless on who you are, you can enjoy a fine hunk or a hot lady for only $250 per hour!” A lady with a New York accent chirped.

Lance looked completely stunned. The smug smile on his face had faded away. Pidge lost it and started laughing so hard her stomach hurt, and she fell off the couch. Even though she could barely breath, Pidge knew that the others were on the same page. Somehow, this was better than the incident with the waitress.

Quick as light, Keith snatched away Lance’s phone while he was making an incoherent noise that was several octaves higher than his usual voice.

“My name is Lance McClain. I’m an angsty, pining anime-loving boy who’d like to have a room with two men and a woman for two hours. Give me your best workers. Please, I’m soooo lonely! I can’t get a girl to save my life,” Keith moaned while giving his best Lance impression, howling with laughter between words.

At times like this, Pidge was grateful for her friends because they could make a rainy day sunny.

* * *

 

It was her. Shiro would recognize that vibrant white hair and those striking looks from a mile away. But it couldn’t be her, right? If so, karma must’ve bit him in the ass again. Fate liked to put him in pain.

What was her name again? Allura, right?

_Damn it, that rings a bell._

Shiro wished he hadn’t seen here. He wished she didn’t work at the cafe. He wished he had found an excuse to not go hang out with his friends, but it was too late now. After seeing her, Shiro felt his memories as a wild teenager resurface.

* * *

 

The lights were dim, and the place was so crowded Shiro couldn’t even hear the guy who was talking to him. Beside him, two girls, who drank too much, were making out in an almost animalistic fashion. The smell of cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol clogged his lungs, but Shiro was able to maneuver through the party like it was nothing.

“Hey, Champion, I want a go at her,” a buddy of Shiro’s yelled into his ear as he pointed to a girl.

Champion was a street name he received a long time ago. After all, he was a “champion” of his shady craft: transporting drugs and roofying girls for others as long as there was a hefty reward waiting for him.

Shiro snuck a peek at the girl the guy was talking about. The girl had brilliant white hair—it _had_ to be dyed—and dark cocoa-colored skin. Her eyes were nervous; she was obviously a newbie to these types of party. The girl towered over another girl, a friend perhaps.

_Oh my god._

Heck, they were even wearing modest party dresses and their hair were neatly done. Their eyes were wide and wandered everywhere. These chicks were like rabbits in a cave filled with bears. Shiro wanted to laugh at how easy this was going to be.

“How much are you going to give?”

“$100.”

“Not enough.”

“Stop shitting me, Champion.”

“Double it or no dice.”

“...Fine.”

Shiro was ready to hunt. Though the teen did admit that he liked a good challenge, but scoring a greenhorn for good cash was worth it.

Step one: separation. He slithered up to them. They jumped as he approached, obviously on edge. In less than a second, he started a conversation with them with a small shy smile plastered on his face. During times like this, Shiro was glad that he was born with a baby face.

He turned towards the shorter girl. “Hey, I think someone’s looking for you,” Shiro pointed to one of his friends from across the crowded room. Hopefully, his friend would play along with this. Either way, Shiro was sure he could lure the other girl in a split second. Immediately, the shorter girl began to walk in the vague direction Shiro pointed at.

The taller girl started to follow her buddy, but the other teen turned around and cheered, “I’ll be fine, Allura!” Then she whispered something that made Allura blush and fidget. Were these girls that naive? He almost felt bad for them. But hey, easy money was easy money; he wasn't complaining. Now that the other girl was gone, Shiro could start making his moves.

Next step: manipulation.

“My bud just brought in a couple cans of beer. You want some?” Shiro asked casually.

Allura’s eyes, which were downcast, flickered in fear. Everything from her body language to her facial expressions was devoured by Shiro’s gaze; nothing escaped him. This chick was still easy prey for him, but this girl wasn’t an idiot, so he to tread his steps with caution.

“C’mon, relax a little,” Shiro urged and swayed his body flirtatiously, but Allura stiffened. _Crap,_ he was pushing too hard too fast.

Shiro laughed, “You must have strict parents.”

“You don’t even know,” Allura sighed, her British accent thick, and lowered her shoulders. Now, he was getting somewhere. With an icebreaker, Shiro opened her up and got her to relax. He observed her carefully; she wasn’t like most girls who came to parties like this. Those people would wrap themselves around him with their cheap makeup and beg for love. Other times, they were too chatty for Shiro’s tastes, always complaining about oh-so-terrible their lives were. But this chick, she listened more than she talked, and  held herself with confidence.

“Mi’lady, could I interest thee in a fine glass of H2O?” Shiro asked later, using an over-the-top British butler impression while pretending to wear a monocle.

She nodded with a giggle, so Shiro flashed another one of his dazzling smiles. He left to grab a drink from another room. He popped the bottled water open, tipped some of the drink out, and mixed a knockout drug into it.

As he walked up to Allura, he felt nothing. It wasn’t as if Shiro didn’t know this was wrong. He knew full well what he was doing, but he liked being like this. Even though some people got hurt in his “craftsmanship,” Shiro got paid well. For once, he didn’t feel like the outsider at school. He was well known and respected for his drug transportation job. In his mind, he had justified his actions though a feeling of guilt always followed him around. But the euphoria he received always seemed to make up for it.

But there was a chill when he passed the drugged drink to Allura’s hands. During the time, Shiro thought it came from the cold drink, which is partly was, but he genuinely felt bad for her. Later when she passed out and her thick snow white hair fell against her back, he still felt stone cold. The teen dragged her unconscious body to the employer as she groaned in his arms. As he turned away and left Allura, Shiro saw her friend drunk and half naked with a boy in the pool.

Shiro walked away from the beautiful and vulnerable dark-skinned teen. As disgustingly emo as it sounded, this is what his life had become, filled with deception and watching others suffer.

 _I’ll never see her again anyways._ Shiro thought.

* * *

 

Now, Shiro was in the operation room, giving a drunk woman an emergency surgery. The room was cold but abuzz with workers. The woman in front of him had been beautiful. But now, several of her limbs look twisted, and her body was a complete wreck.

“Can you come into the hospital right now, Dr. Takashi?” the lady on the phone had asked less than half an hour ago. “We have an emergency.”

Eighteen minutes ago, one of Shiro’s fellow doctors slapped him on the back. “You got this, Dr. Takashi! You’re a perfect doctor, a true tailor on the surgery table!”

Five minutes ago, a timid nurse shuffled up to him and rambled, “L-let’s do this! I m-mean, you can do this all by yourself because you're so great, but I didn’t mean I wouldn’t help you!”

Three minutes ago, a man, a friend or the drunk woman, went up to him and begged, “Please save her. She’s a beautiful person at heart! I need her to live to see another day.”

Working there, trying to pump life into this woman by repairing her vitals, reminded Shiro of his least favorite aspect of his job: the pressure. He was this woman’s god. If he wanted to, Shiro could mess up the surgery and kill her. But he could also save her. Everyone expected the best of the best from him. Every single person he had ever met was like this. They expected him to be flawless: a perfect son, a perfect brother, a perfect friend, a perfect student, a perfect doctor.

But Shiro hated this feeling. What if he screwed up? Would people hate him for it? Shiro knew that he had messed up many times, but he always managed to hide it well because he was afraid to let people acknowledge his faults. The truth was the doctor was self-conscious. At every turn, his past mistakes haunted him, but he wanted to maintain a mask of happiness.

Shiro was not a perfect son. If his parents knew about the shady things Shiro had done in the past, they would’ve disowned him.

Shiro was not a perfect brother. He, Shirogane Takashi, had ruined his brother’s life even though Keith didn’t know it. Even without that fact, his distant relationship with Keith was proof of that even though they looked like they were best friends.

Shiro was not a perfect friend. He backstabbed many in the past, and he could never return all the happiness his current ones gave him.

Shiro was not a perfect student. He used to cheat on all his tests and copy others’ homework.

Shiro was not a perfect doctor. A doctor’s duty was to heal and save, but he had hurt Allura and many others.

The constant beeping on the machine next to him stopped and screeched out a high-pitch sound. For once in his professional career, Shiro had failed.

That night, he returned to his cold, empty apartment. It was _perfectly_ furnished with just the right amount of clutter. Most people at his age would be drooling over the two thousand square foot flat but not Shiro. Instead, he flopped on his bed, remembering that a couple of hours ago, a woman had died in his arms. The words of the nurse who recorded the death rang in his head:

_At 3:42 am, Tanya Lawson, mother of three, died on the table while undergoing surgery performed by Shirogane Takashi._

* * *

 

Hunk was not a horrendous student like Lance who had no hope in succeeding in the education system and zero motivation to study. But the big guy also wasn’t a genius like Shiro and Pidge; they were well known prodigies in their fields. Without a doubt, Hunk was nothing like Keith who got along with (almost) nobody and had discipline issues. All in all, the Hawaiian gentle giant was a mediocre student. There was hardly anything special about him, except for his above average math grades.

 _I should just drop out of college and become a stripper._ That’s what Lance would’ve thought if he was in his shoes. Yet here was Hunk, splayed out on his bedroom floor with his textbooks set up around him like a wall.

Lance and Keith were so lucky. Neither of them even went to college. Hell, Keith got kicked out of high school for possessing drugs, not that Hunk judged him since Keith claimed that he got framed. On late nights of studying, Hunk found himself begging someone—anyone—to give him the brain of Isaac Newton.

Hunk himself had no idea why he was majoring in mechanical engineering. Sure, he was decent at it, but he often found himself questioning how anybody found this interesting. His father, an electrical engineer, had “guided” him into choosing it.

By all means, Hunk wanted to quit his major, but he wasn’t that simple for him. If he continued to finish this semester, Hunk would get his bachelor’s degree. There was no way he could drop out of his major. His mother and father would never allow him to do that, nor did Hunk have the heart to admit it to them. They beamed in joy whenever they saw their son. If Hunk took away their happiness, he would be distraught.

Every single one of his accomplishments were treasured in his household since he was an only child. Hunk’s mother even had a large bookshelf stocked full with numerous photo albums. Mr and Mrs. Garrett took so much pride in their son that they’d put the Brady Bunch’s parents to shame. But that also had its drawbacks. Hunk never admitted this aloud, but his parents had a tendency to control his life. They were chill with him for the most part. But when it came to school and public appearances, they shut down his opinions on matters.

Hunk found himself frowning at a particularly hard problem in his textbook. Five minutes later, he still had no idea how to solve it, so he left it alone. Another ten minutes passed by, and he was still getting nowhere, so he called it quits.

What he needed was a breather. So naturally, he found himself in the kitchen with his mother’s plaid apron on even though it was too small for him. He swung large wooden spoons in his hands and made finger laser guns.

“Pow, pow, pow, boom!” He yelled, but it sounded more like fireworks than lasers.

His favorite episode of Hell’s Kitchen was playing in the background as he swiveled around the large kitchen with ease, pots and pans clanging.

The happiness Hunk felt while he cooked was unbelievable. Cooking was his element, not only was he a (albeit self-proclaimed) food connoisseur. But Hunk liked to boast that he made the best damn Hawaiian food as well. Mama Garrett taught him well.

Feet flying across the kitchen, he managed to save a stew before it started to bubble. As a child, Hunk's dream was to become a chef. In his final year of high school, his father slammed down his iron fist and refused to let him pursue culinary school.

“Where’s the lamb sauce?!” Gordon screamed from his phone.

Hunk put on a wide optimistic smile as he laid the food he made out. The smell of the multiple herbs and spices he used to make the dishes filled the room. Before Hunk was going to dig into his midnight snack, his father walked in.

“There you are, my boy!" Mr. Garrett laughed. He was like an older version of his son.  Both Hunk and his father had the same tanned skin and chubby body, but Hunk’s father’s smiles looked fake. His tight Hawaiian shirt emphasized his beer belly.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, dad,” Hunk chirped. “I have a mechanical engineering test tomorrow.”

Hunk scanned for his father’s reaction. By now, it was an unconscious reflex. He found that he was always searching for his dad’s approval.

“Do well tomorrow,” his father reminded him, but there was an edge to his voice. To Hunk, it sounded like a demand. “Of course you’ll do well, graduate, and get a job with a high salary.”

Hunk couldn’t stop himself from nodding even though he didn’t feel up to spending his entire life like this. This is why his friends called him a wimp. He got used to following the rules his family set down. Admittedly, Hunk was a pushover; it made him wish he was more of a leader than a follower.

Times like this made him miss the days when he and his father would play baseball in their backyard. He used to fall on his face and miss the ball, but neither of them minded it at all. His dad would always help him up with a bright smile. Then, he would come inside to hug his mother who didn’t mind getting even her dresses dirty when she cradled her child.

“I will, Dad.”

* * *

 

“Uncle Lance,” a toddler whined from the hallway.

It was past midnight and Lance had been looking forward to sleep through the night peacefully. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

Lance stifled a protesting groan and called out, “What’s wrong, Alejándro?” He scooted over and beckoned his nephew to lay down beside him.

“I can’t sleep!” the little boy whimpered as he climbed up his bed. Poor Alejándro was too short to get his leg over the bed, so Lance had to pick him up from below the armpits, chuckling while doing so. He gleefully noted that his nephew wore the Adventure Time pyjamas he gave him for Christmas.

“It’s alright! Tío Lance is here to defend you from the monster underneath your bed and girls with cooties!” Lance laughed while tickling the kid. He giggled and kicked Lance, but it was worth it.

“You know what they call me?” the young adult asked.

“The tailor?”

“Well, they call me that too,” Lance told him before dropping his voice into a whisper. “Some people call me the defender of the universe!”

“Oooh, do your friends defend the universe with you?” the kiddo asked in the same shushed tone as his uncle.

“Yep, we pilot huge mechanical lion robots! Did you know? We can even combine them to make a giant Transformer called Voltron! We beat up big bad guys like… uh, Emperor Zarkon and Prince Lotion—er, Lotor! I pilot the best lion, the blue one! Shiro has the black one, Hunk pilots the yellow lion, Pidge has the green lion, and Keith—I guess—pilots the red one.”

“Why aren’t you piloting the red one? That’s the best color!”

“No, no, no, no, your tío is so cool he can pilot both the red and the blue lion!”

“Cool! Can you control the others too?”

“Hold on, you little rascal! I can’t suddenly pilot them all! I’d be a Gary Stu then. Of course I can pilot them all, but I’ll have to go through character development!”

“Character deveropmete?” Lance laughed at how his nephew butchered the word.

“It’s something you’ll learn in a boring high school English class.”

“Keith must be cool because he pilots the red lion robot!”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Alejándro! Keith is so uncool! He’s a stuck-up emo with shit taste in music! Oops, don’t tell your father I said that! But he gets on my nerves! Keith is always trying to one-up me, and he doesn’t believe that I’m better than him! I bet he’s jealous of my superior looks and great pick up lin-!” Lance vented.

“Do you like Keith?” the toddler cut in with a laugh.

“Yes, I- wait no! I can’t stand that guy! How in the name of Jesus did you even think of that?” Lance yelped. He didn’t know it, but his face flushed a deep scarlet.

“Because you were smiling, and you had a look on your face when you were talking about him!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

Keith was an inconsiderate jerk who was nowhere near as great as the fine hunk of a man his brother Shiro was. Not only was his fashion sense dreadful, but he was also as bland as a stale piece of bread.

“Girls won’t like you if you have immature arguments like this, my boy.”

“I’m fine with that because they have cooties!” his nephew gurgled.

“Go to sleep, you little brat!” Lance teased.

Believe it or not, Lance had always been a family guy (and an amazing flirt). He was the youngest sibling to four other people, the son of the most caring and hardest working parents, and the uncle to three amazing kids, Alejándro being one of them. With them by his side, Lance felt like he could get through anything.

_Correction: almost everything._

Ever since Lance came out as bisexual, things felt awkward around his family. At first, it was so unbearable he tried to avoid them for as long as possible. It wasn’t like they were being abusive toward him or anything. Lance’s family would never do that, but some of them struggled to acknowledge his sexuality. The topic got avoided like the plague because several members of his family didn’t feel comfortable with the fact that their son was into both men and women.

With some time, it got better though. Lance found that sometimes his father didn’t look him in the eye. But he was grateful that they were trying their best to understand him. However, the Cuban guy knew that they talked about it behind his back.

* * *

 

Lance was hiding in a half-opened closet from his three year-old niece Isabel during an intense game of hide-and-go-seek when he heard their shushed whispers.

“Where did we go wrong, Maria?” His papa cried to his mama. Lance’s oldest brother Miguel and oldest sister Kiara stood beside them. His tone stung Lance hard.

“I don’t know, Joseph,” Lance’s mama said with a sigh. “But this a part of our son now, so we have to understand him even though we don’t approve of it.”

Kiara stamped her foot in anger. “I heard that homosexuality was a genetical mistake, like, um, autism. There are some doctors who will help them become _normal_ again. I mean, as humans, we’re supposed to be hetero. This doesn’t make sense.” Beside her, Miguel and his papa were nodding their heads.

That killed Lance in the inside. Out of all his siblings, he was the least close to Kiara, but that statement hurt his very core. To think that somebody he would risk his neck for would call him a genetic failure. The pain he felt from that made hot tears cloud his eyesight.

 _You are not a mistake, Lance McClain._ He told himself.

“No, absolutely not!” his mama yelled. “This is our son, your brother! We should be supporting him. He would feel awful if we treated him like that.”

“Sorry, Maria, but I just feel so uncomfortable with this,” Lance’s papa started to say. “I always thought Lance was… different, but this is insane. Tell me, Maria, why is he also gay?”

Maria, Lance’s beloved mama, didn’t respond. In Lance’s opinion, that spoke for itself.

His soul broke down that night.

* * *

 

At first, Kiara wouldn’t even let him hold Alejándro. She, Miguel, and his father ignored him like the plague. When Lance met any of their eyes, he would flinch and cast his eyes down at the ground.

Now, things had gotten considerably better, but he still felt like he was being blocked away from several of his family members. Lance doubted the situation would improve. If he couldn’t be the best child or best sibling in his family, he might as well be the best uncle.

A part of Lance vowed to never forgive Mama, Papa, Miguel, and Kiara for what they had done.

* * *

 

“Tío Lance,” his niece, Isabel called from the living room as he walked into his cramped house.

“What is it Bells?” Lance asked as he turned his head into the room. There, his niece looked as happy as a child getting a puppy in her new uniform for school. She ran up to him with her arms wide to hug him. Her uncle easily picked her up and stared at her bright brown eyes.

“Muchas gracias! Muchas gracias! Muchas gracias!” Isabel chanted while landing a couple of pecks on his face. “You’re my favorite uncle!”

Lance put her down and glanced at her overjoyed smile. He laughed, “Of course I am!”

As Lance saw his niece twirl in her pretty plaid skirt, he turned around to see Kiara. Lance felt his anxiety spike.

 _This is fine. I’m okay with this._ He lied to himself.

* * *

 

It was 6 am, far too early to be up, yet here Keith was. He grabbed his keychain, fumbled to find his automobile repair shop’s key, and then stuck it into the lock of his business’s front door. The door made an awful squealing noise as the mullet boy swung it open.

He moved to turn on all the lights inside and sat at the front desk of his small establishment, going over finances. With a frown, Keith noticed that his shop’s revenue had drastically dropped. It was the worst dip it had taken since he opened it. Immediately, he broke into a sweat as he read the report not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times.

Even though Keith was smart enough to save as much money as possible—hey, there’s nothing wrong with being frugal—this deeply disturbed him. He’s funds were being stretched on a wire. Soon, he might have to lay off a worker, but his employees’ schedules were already booked.

 _Shit._ Keith thought while he gnawed his lip nervously.

“Good morning, Keith,” one of his employees mumbled darkly as he entered the building.

Keith shoved the papers of his finances into a safe. He was not expecting one of his employees to arrive so early.

“Ulaz, you’re very early today,” Keith said, expecting an answer.

The balding man put her hands behind his head and sighed. “I just have to get away from my house right now,” he replied.

“Why?”

Ulaz made a choking noise, so Keith lifted his gaze from the computer he was typing on to look at his worker. His body language screamed that Ulaz was uncomfortable. Keith gulped; he hadn’t meant it to come out so rudely, but it did.

“I-I’m sor-” the young man started to apologize.

“It’s okay. My son got expelled yesterday because he got caught selling meth at school,” Ulaz explained, he covered his face with his hands. “I’m just at a loss of words. How did this happen?”

Keith understood Ulaz on a personal level. Back when he was in his junior year in high school, a jerk put his drugs inside of Keith’s bookbag because another teacher found cocaine in the boy’s bathroom. When his AP Chemistry teacher dug through his bag, they found a bag of the white stuff and called the police. With Keith’s terrible track record of discipline issues and accounts of his “suspicious activities” from his classmates, he was expelled. No amount of arguing could prove him innocent. Keith, who had long given up on the education system, never tried to go back to high school.

* * *

 

Clad in a dark T-shirt and a pair of jeans, seventeen year-old Keith arrived at his AP Chemistry class late. All eyes were on him even though he entered wordlessly. When he was asked why he tardy to his fourth period class by his teacher, Keith simply ignored her and headed to his seat in the back corner of the classroom.

He was too busy listening to music on his MP3 player to notice what his teacher and his classmates was talking about. After a couple of songs, Keith’s female teacher stood in front of him, and without saying anything to him, dumped all the contents inside out on the ground. Now, she had caught his attention. Keith gaped at her and tore his earbuds out his ear.

“What the hell?” he yelled, but she was too preoccupied with a plastic ziploc bag on the ground to scold the mullet teen for his language. Keith turned his head and bent down to see what his teacher and his nearby classmates were looking at. As soon as he saw it, his face turned to white.

Inside the plastic bag was a strange white powder; it almost looked like salt, but Keith knew exactly what it was.

_It’s cocaine._

* * *

 

He didn’t know where it came from. To this day, Keith still had no idea who planted those drugs in his backpack, but that incident changed his life.

“Take the day off, Ulaz,” Keith demanded immediately. His employee looked aback.

“What do you mean?” the balding man asked confusingly. He was scanning to check if Keith was okay; as their boss, the young adult tried his best to not get personally involved with his workers.

“I’m serious. Take the day off; I’ve got it covered,” Keith stated again though he didn’t have any other workers schedule to come today. “Talk to your son. I may be less than half your age, but I know that mistakes like this happen. Forgive him and help him change for the better.”

That’s what Keith’s father and mother, who were the greatest people Keith ever knew, did when he was kicked out of school. Instead of shunning him, they comforted him while he screamed in anger, forgave him, and let him start working in his dad’s automobile shop.

“You know what, Keith? I’ll do just that,” Ulaz announced after a short pause of silence. “Keith, you’re really mature. If I was your dad, I would be proud of you.” Then, he left to go to his son.

Ulaz had no idea what those words meant to Keith. His parents were gone from his life now, but he would never forget about the lasting impact they left on him.

A loud ringing noise filled the room, disrupting the jazz music playlist Keith was listening to. He quickly glanced at the caller ID. After taking a look at it, Keith ignored the call and returned to his work; it was Lance.

The call ended and the young adult’s groovy music started to play again. Less than a minute later, however, it was cut off by another call. Annoyed this time, he picked it up.

“Help, I have an emergency!” Lance yelled.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if I offended anyone by giving Pidge female pronouns! I know that many people call Pidge nonbinary or trans—and I totally respect that—but this was a personal decision I made.
> 
> This chapter was Pidge and Shiro heavy which is why everyone else's sections were far shorter! The next one will probably be more focused on Keith and Lance’s relationship. And the pace will get picked up!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr here [@queen-kou](http://queen-kou.tumblr.com/). Sadly, I don’t understand how to use it well, and I only use the mobile app (apparently, that’s a big no-no).
> 
> Since this is my second fic, I’d really appreciate it if you guys provided feedback in the comments! If you liked this, please leave a kudos!~


End file.
